Donald Trump reveals that he is in the UK because he and Boris are on a work exchange programme

POTUS Maximus Donald Trump is in the UK, but not for an official visit. Trump himself disclosed, via Twitter of course, that he has simply swapped places with Boris Johnson for a few days.

The statement from the Presidential Throne of State (a portable toilet made of pure gold) read thus:

“My good friend and soulmate Boris Johnson has not, as the Rigged Witch Hunt pretends, resigned. FAKE NEWS! He is in the White House. It’s a JOB EXCHANGE, folks! Boris makes a great POTUS, second only to Trump!”

The Orange Inflatable has promised to mimic Johnson’s style and work ethic. He will talk off-the-cuff nonsense and duck out of responsibility.

“I am doing foreign secretary stuff right now!” read another overexcited tweet. “Trump can make bigly US Trade Deals all by himself whatever the CROOKED DEMOCRATS and BITTER LEFTIES say!”

Theresa May, this week’s PM, welcomed the President. “Every Prime Minister needs a Trump,” she said, to a handpicked audience of lickspittles on a remote Scottish island in Scotland. “And every White House needs a Johnson. Donald brings the art of the deal – or no deal – to the table. This government welcomes his subtle and intelligent input.”

The potty POTUS agreed. “I believe that I am the best qualified person in the universe for this job! I am watching what is going on in Europe. It is sooooo simple to fix! Get out. Leave. Cut all ties It’s that simple. A yuge deal with the USA is happening soon. Great!”

LCD Views attempted to reach Boris Johnson by telephone. Expecting the relative calm of the Oval Office, in the background instead we heard what sounded suspiciously like a party involving champagne, lines of cocaine on naked rent boys, and a severed pig’s head. “Sorry, it’s a terrible line old boy,” came Johnson’s voice, and the line went dead.

Every Prime Minister needs a Trump, especially after stockpiling all those baked beans.

Famous orange man takes last shreds of woman’s self respect as souvenir from U.K. holiday

A famously orange man famous for golfing more than working, but who often scores a hole in one for fascism when he does work, has decided to take the last shreds of a woman’s self respect as his souvenir from a U.K. golfing holiday.

”I wanted a baby,” the man told a packed press conference, “a beautiful baby. A big baby. The biggest baby I could find. They have very fat babies here in England land. Not many people know that. But they do. Let me tell you. Great big, fat babies. And they’re orange. And they fly. Who knew? I knew. You didn’t know that. Beautiful flying babies. You can put them in a cage so they can’t float away.”

But inability to capture a fat, flying English baby has led to a change in direction, moments later.

”I never said I wanted a baby? That’s fake news. That’s the lying, scum mainstream media lying to you. They lie to you. They really do. Day in and day out. They have me on television. I am the highest rating, sitting, hardly ever standing, US president on English television, and Scottish television, Scottish television too. I have the best ratings here since George Washington. Not many people know that.”

But what are you choosing as a souvenir if you can’t have a baby to put in a cage?

”Oh, that’s easy. Easiest decision in the world. I am taking the last shreds of Theresa May’s credibility, self respect and joy at being alive home with me. It’s already in the bag. It’s a tiny bag. Just the smallest. Like one of those bags poor people, who, let me tell you, are only poor because they’re lazy, too lazy to work folks. Unlike me. I’m a self made man. Small bag. Small, small bag.”

We asked the woman for comment on this but all she would say was,

”Under his eye.”

Then she cast her eyes to the ground and drifted away.

Pundits unite – “It was Southgate’s waistcoat wot lost it”

Pundits across the British media today united in blaming England’s embarrassing departure from the world cup on team manager Gareth Southgate’s waistcoat.

“Waistcoat?? Wasted chances more like,” wrote Sun columnist and former skinhead Bushy Arsehole referring to England’s inexplicable profligacy in front of goal after roaring to a surprise lead in the fifth minute.

“Kane, Sterling, wotsisname, thingummy – the one with the funny hair, they all missed absolute sitters and it’s all down to that idiot Southgate and his stupid sartorial affectations,” raved Barney Rubble, the Guardian’s roving public school football obsessive.

“‘Armless they were, just like ‘is bleedin’ stoopid waistcoat,” he continued, emphasising his unconvincing mockney accent and exposing a full chest tattoo of the entire lyrics of “Three Lions on a Shirt”.

England’s embarrassing exit has played havoc with BBC schedules ahead of Sunday’s world cup final, which had been cleared to allow for screening of a three hour documentary on the integral role of waistcoats in the UK’s upcoming departure from Europe.

Presented by the BBC ‘s chief Tory propagandist Laura Kuntsberg, the documentary was to feature lengthy interviews with newfound waistcoat fanatic and permanent BBC commentator, Nigel Farage on why he prefers to use the American term “vest” and Boris Johnson on “fuck waistcoats, I want to be Prime Minister.. NOW!”.

Although being unceremoniously booted out in the semis by a country that didn’t even exist the last time they progressed that far may be embarrassing for England, it does pale in comparison with the team’s performance in Euro 2016.

Only two years ago the heroic three lions were mauled and eaten by a country which, while boasting a history going back over a 1,000 years, is named after a low end supermarket, and boasts a smaller population than Croydon.

Even this though is overshadowed by England’s feeble showing in the 2010 world cup, itself overshadowed by the untimely death of Timperley tune-smith Frank Sidebottom, whose epic paean to the tri-leonine conquerors, “Three Shirts On My Line” had been released only days earlier.

“Werrr gunna win it fer Frank,” whined England captain Steven Gerard in an embarrassing TV interview moments before taking the field to be given what BBC commentator George Colthurst St Barleigh described as a “a darned good British style thrashing by Harry Hun, six of the best, trousers down…”

Project Fear slammed for being Project Understatement as plans to power Northern Ireland with floating sea batteries revealed

“Those traitorous remoaners have stitched us up!” shouted masses of gammon and key politicians who prey on their salty credulousness, as details of plans for Northern Ireland’s life outside of the EU were revealed.

”The bloody fact, bloody fancy, bloody avocado eating, bloody ooo I’m so clever metropolitan disconnected out of touch snob remainers were supposed to warn everyone what was coming down the line if we chose to tie ourselves to the tracks of Brexit,” Frank Bloody Field MP told LCD Views, “and did they? Did they bloody hell!”

At this point Frank had to sit down and imagine a restorative vision of a revolution, after millions of bloody middle class people were finally eating out of bins and the common man realised the racism fuelled bollocks of Brexit. And their political betters, while still their comrades, lived in the mansions nationalised after the fall of all that evil capitalism.

”No one told us we were going to be stockpiling bloody tinned food because no one bothered to work out how our food supply chain works. Whose bloody job is that? Some lazy fancy pants with two tone shoes made of supple Italian leather soaked in the sweat of children. I bloody reckon! Who’s job…”

Frank settled again. Restoring himself this time with the image of smashing open the temple of Mammon in London and using the recovered toil of the masses to buy Russian made tractors and feed a starving mass.

”And Northern Ireland to be powered by floating flipping batteries in the Irish Sea? This is Global Britain? The Tories are turning us into Venezuela, with my and certain other Labour colleagues help.”

Frank breathed in. Breathed out. Imagined Marx and Lenin and Castro holding a cake sale, before finally,

”Project Fear was Project Understatement, I tell you, and I am pointing the finger squarely at the bloody remainers for not being as hysterical as us red kippers. We know who to blame. We’re taking names.”

There. That’s reassuring then. Look to the future and watch the batteries bob in a gale in the Irish Sea as the lights of Northern Ireland go off and on, off and on, to the rhythm of the sea.

 

Red meat for Brits as Brexit cookbook updated to include recipes for cooking lion

“No one has anything to fear,” Dominic Raab MP, newly scraped off the bottom of the Tory barrel, told a packed press conference in Whitehall today, “my department is moving swiftly to ensure red meat is thrown to all patriotic subjects of HMG post Brexit.”

It was welcome news.

And a firm retort to the week’s scandalous headlines fear mongering over food shortages from Spring 2019, when we all pull together to make kleptomaniacs and their hedge fund stooges even richer.

“Anyone who has ever driven around the countryside in the United Kingdom will know it is just heaving with fresh red meat,” Mr Raab went on, “and not just the cattle, ponies and sheep. The recent fad for safari parks means that even exotic tastes will continue to be sated as we make a success of Brexit. We have a bounty in the countryside and those unelected eurocrats can’t stop us dining. Taste the sovereignty!”

This is wonderful. A far cry from the days when that ageing SAS wannabe Davis held sway as Secretary of State for Complete and Total Insanity, or DExEU, as it’s more commonly called.

“Working hand in hand with the country’s safari parks will ensure that not many people have to subsist on dog food or grass. A small price to pay for once again being outside of the tyrannical grasp of the undemocratic European Union. Making our own laws for the first time in decades and making them exactly mirror EU laws so we can trade with the world’s biggest trading bloc. But being competitive by having every working man, woman and child free of regulations and on below subsistence wages.”

Ooo that’s lip smacking. It’s believed plans for how to deliver the lions, tigers, antelopes, elephants and other animals to the country’s dinner tables are not yet finalised, but soon will be. Just a matter of designing the “Taste Your Sovereignty” logo.

“Also, my department will be updating the Brexit Cookbook immediately so you know the best way to prepare that shank of big cat. Other measures will be edible Saint George flags. Commemorative Brexit dinner plates made of chewable ceramics and how to force your children to forage. I will repeat now, no one has anything to fear if they are willing to work.”

But what about the concerns over the lights going out? The potential for Brexit to shove the UK out of the European energy markets?

“The hot heat of faith and certainty of a price worth paying will keep everyone warm,” Mr Raab reassured, “never fear. In Brexit Britain the lights may go out, for a time, as we adjust to our new realities, but with the enforced adoption of patriotic blue British passports, the lights maybe out, but everyone will still be at home.”

Blue passports are more important than the country’s prospects, says Brexiter supporting Croatia tonight

Brexit-loving England fans have become conflicted after discovering that Croatians carry blue passports. So much so that some of them are actually supporting Croatia this evening.

Government outrage over the revelation has given Theresa May another headache. Michael Gove is threatening to resign over the issue. “It’s cultural appropriation, that’s what it is!” he drooled. “The British invented blue passports before anybody else!”

LCD Views spoke to erstwhile England fan Marcus Absent about the passport problem.

“I voted to Leave, and Leave means Leave!” he spluttered. “We want our country back, we want to take back control, but most of all we want blue passports! As soon as I found out that the Croatians had blue passports I just had to start supporting them.”

That’s not very patriotic, we ventured.

“Blue passports are more important than anything else!” shouted Absent. “I don’t care if the country goes down the pan like one of Boris’ turds, so long as I have a blue passport!”

Back in Westminster, Michael Gove was spitting feathers.

“I can’t believe that an upstart Johnny come lately shithole country like Croatia can have the blue passports the EU denies us!” he bibbled. “The UK has been a rule-taker for far too long. I’m seriously considering resigning over the matter. It’s the principle. You can’t argue with democracy!”

Amid the fuss, a football match is going on. Many fans are looking forward to their first semi in ages. Many of their wives are hoping that brewer’s droop will save the day.

Nobody is wishing to predict the outcome. England have the advantage of a magic waistcoat, but the disadvantage that they have nobody on the left wing. Not even Jeremy Corbyn.

Football is definitely coming home. Wherever home may be. It was born in the UK but has long since emigrated. Let us hope that football carries a blue passport.

Cornish post Brexit Boom! As starving prospectors flood the southwest in search of seams of beans!

Forget copper! Forget tin! Cornwall has beans!

The authorities are being urged to act swiftly to prevent mass tailbacks on that little tiny road built two thousand years ago, that is the only way into Cornwall (unless you’re a pirate or a bird), as the cries of “Gold!”, followed by “I means Heinz!”, sees thousands of starving prospectors break down the barricades on the M25 to break free of rationing in the capital and flood to the southwest, hoping to strike post Brexit gold. Whereas once they used to come to buy second homes, outprice the local people, and occasionally rent the property to people on AirBnB.

”It’s a beans rush like I’ve never seen before,” David Davis, retired public servant, and now prospecting tool supplier, told LCD Views,

“when I retired from decades of hard graft serving the British people with every fibre of my little finger and decided to open an ice pick axe and chocolate teapot shop in Penzance people told me I was insane,

“Well, who’s laughing now? I’m selling pick axes as fast as I can freeze them! I’m rich I tells ya! Rich! And I’m not even having to get out into the hills and valleys getting my hands dirty to do it. Yippee!”

And it seems the former Secretary of State for Executing the U.K. is not the only one cashing in as the great British gold rush roars into life in the southwest.

Every day thousands of Londoners are quietly stepping out of the queues, waiting for their share of airdropped EU aid, and hurrying to get into the rush to tear about the cliff faces and river beds of a region once languishing in the dying throes of a fishing industry finished off when patriot Nigel Farage caught the last fish in Cornish waters.

”Fortunes are being made thanks to Brexit now,” David Davis said, “just like I predicted. Only I never thought it would be food mining because I never thought.”

Asked for reaction to the gold rush, semi-retired botanist Jeremy Corbyn called for Cornwall to be nationalised, before drifting off into another of his celebrated naps.

Go southwest my son! You never know your luck! You might even get to eat!

”The call used to be get behind Brexit and push,” Davis added, “but now it’s pick up a pick axe and you might just eat!”

Farage vows to return Boris to frontline politics

Nigel Farage is fantasising about reviving the defunct political entity that is UKIP. However, his party would need a powerful, charismatic and instantly recognisable leader. “If Theresa May cannot deliver the Brexit I want,” he grumbles, “then I will have to return Boris to frontline politics.”

Farage definitely helped to win the now-infamous Referendum. His blokey, beer-and-fags persona appealed to sections of the electorate, and he displayed a gift for crude Nazi appropriation. But ever since, he has been whinging about Brexit. You won, Nigel, get over it.

However, Farage has one major problem. As many-times leader of a fringe party, he is also many-times failure to be elected to Parliament. Hence the need for a leader who has.

“Boris Johnson is the ideal candidate,” waffled Farage. “He embodies all the characteristics of UKIP. He is opportunistic, selfish and talks bollocks.”

Farage emphasised the point by remarking that Boris promises much and delivers little, and that when the going gets tough, Boris quits.

“His experiences as Foreign Secretary will be invaluable,” witters Farage. “I mean, this is a colossus of a man. He is one of the few still willing to call a fuzzy-wuzzy a fuzzy-wuzzy. He has personally ensured that someone who claimed to be British, but had a foreign name, received an increased prison term. He is heroically rude to the Burmese, the Italians and of course the French. Perfect UKIP man!”

UKIP could become a force in British politics with Boris at the helm, Farage states. “’F*ck business’ is a very sensible idea,” he dribbles. “These powerful corporations holding the country to ransom. F*ck ‘em. Proper British summers, bendy bananas and no smelly immigrants disturbing a quiet night down the pub. That’s what the British people voted for!”

The British people collectively rolled their eyes and got on with life.

No definite word has yet come from Boris Johnson. It is believed that he is indeed plotting his return to the big time. Rumour has it that he is setting up his own political party – the Boris Johnson Party.

Unopposed! Boris Johnson accepts the leadership of UKIP

I P Standing’s (Hot Shot Hack Journalist) Secret Diary

Dear Diary,

It’s been hell I tell you…. hell!

Back in March I nipped out for a coffee with some new Russian friends in Salisbury, and I have been in quarantine for the last four months….

Has anything happened whilst I’ve been locked away at Porton Down?

Yes!

“Boris finally resigned from the foreign office,” whispered the LCD Views’ Murdoch look alike….”Now go follow up this rumour.”

I’m in the Wig and Pen in deepest Borchester. In walks the unmistakable frame of Boris Johnson. He looks sheepishly left and right and moves through towards the toilets. Intrigued, I follow in his footsteps. Just before the urinals he takes another door into the back yard and disappears into a large garden shed.

I creep towards a crack in the lattice boarding and place an ear to listen to the conversation.

“Right Arron what’s the plan?” the unmistakable soothing, dulcet tones of Boris.

“Boris, you are the leader we need to resurrect the party. I have the funds available from a friend of a friend, to mount the campaign. Money is no object. Will you accept?”

“You know my values Arron they are shallow and easily manipulated to ensure my name is spread across every newspaper…. Damn it man I’ll take it.”

I hear the spitting on hands and the sound of a handshake.

“Welcome to UKIP Boris, you will lead us to victory when May calls the next general election. Not long to wait….her own rabid backbenchers will topple her any day because she refuses to starve the middle classes as well as the poor.”

I scarper quickly back to the toilets and retch violently into the nearest ceramic bowl.

I need a taxi back to Porton Down and quick.

It’s me or Flash Corbyn, warns Ming the Merciless

As the inner circle of Emperor Ming the Merciless collapses from within, so it would seem, with senior advisors quitting their positions, Emperor Ming has assured the citizens of planet Mongo that there is nothing to worry about.

Addressing the crowds, the emperor announced:

“People of Mongo, have no fear. Your emperor is still your emperor, and my leadership is as strong and stable as ever. Now is the time you must all get behind me as my loyal slaves, because your choice is between my strong and stable emperorship and the unrealisable fantasies of Flash Corbyn.”

When asked what is to be done about the planet Mongo dying from lack of resources, Ming replied simply, “we shall invade Earth. We shall use our special secret weapon, the Brexit Missile, to bamboozle them into submission.”

This drew cheers from one small swathe of the population, from whom the odour of pork was strongly detectable, but the rest of the crowd remained cynical. On test performances, the missile had exploded in the faces of anyone who set it off – including the recently-departed David Klytus and Boris Kro-Tan, who both resigned their positions within hours of each other yesterday.

Rumours that the emperor had had Flash executed in the gas chambers had been circulating since the morning, but Vince Vultan of the Liberal Hawkmen shouted out, “Corbyn’s alive!”

Flash’s girlfriend, Dale Abbott, has also confirmed this, and was reported to have said on seeing him alive, “Flash, I love you, but we only have three hundred and fifty million hours to save the world!”

Saving the world from Emperor Ming’s Brexit Missile would be tough enough even if they did have as long as Ms Abbott claimed. In point of fact they only have fourteen hours to save the world, making the job even harder. We wish them luck.